Verdaña
by Mylaea
Summary: Professor Severus Snape was once a small, scared boy on the streets of Verdaña. Many events change and shape his life, and then he finds the love he never had.


The inspiration for this story came from Ender's Game, Ender's Shadow, Shadow of the Hegemon, and Shadow Puppets, by Orson Scott Card. I noticed the parallels of Snape and Bean's actions and thoughts, and therefore they might have similar backgrounds. Verdaña, to my knowledge, doesn't exist and is a city I made up.  
  
Harry Potter is copyright of Jo Rowling, Scholastic, and Warner Brothers.  
  
"I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man with no feet." -I don't know who said this, please e-mail me if you do.  
  
~*~  
  
First year  
  
I look around with awe at the wonders before me. Never before have I seen so many healthy people in one place. I am amazed- there are even fat people! My mind reels at the thought of having so much nourishment that you actually gain extra weight. The whistle for the train blows and I get on as fast as I can. I haven't much strength and can't pull myself up to climb the stairs. A man in blue robes helps me.  
  
The least crowded compartment has five people in it. I open the door and slip in quietly, my head down and my eyes averted. If this is anything like the streets, I could get killed for making eye contact with one of them. I sit on the floor in the corner, hoping I won't anger them by coming in.  
  
I don't have to look again to know what the five people look like. There are four males and one female. Their faces are all filled out and they look so clean. I allow myself to glance up as one of them speaks. A boy with medium-length black hair speaks, a confident and arrogant quality to his voice. He is speaking to the group.  
  
"Hey, do you all see that boy in the corner?"  
  
My blood freezes with fear and I try to analyze his tone of voice. The red- haired girl replies.  
  
"He is so thin! I can practically see right through him. I wonder where he came from."  
  
A chubby boy (I still cannot imagine all of that food he must get to eat) gets up and walks over to me. I flinch, preparing myself for the blow I know will come. He steps back, surprised.  
  
"Do you think he's some kid who found his way onto the train?"  
  
Not even the Monstros, the older children, on the street would talk about us urchins like we are not there. I am beginning to think I came to a place worse than the streets.  
  
I hear someone's stomach grumble. A rarely heard sound for me, since everyone's stomachs were long past the point of making noises. The boy with the dark, messy hair rubs his stomach.  
  
"I haven't eaten since last night! We didn't have time for breakfast. I'm starving!"  
  
I balk. He ate last night and he says he is starving? He does not know the definition of starving. It is a point where you can't think about anything except the pain in your belly. Starving is where you root through the feces of others (the lucky ones who can find scraps) for undigested pieces. Starving is not being able to stand without difficulty and strain. Starving is children who will kill each other for food, who will do anything to fill the emptiness in their stomach, even if it means eating their own hair, swallowing dirt or chewing the morsels of food so rotten and putrid that even the cockroaches wouldn't consume it.  
  
I feel the train lurch but it continues moving. Moving away from that cesspool of filth, Verdaña, Paraguay, where the prostitutes would dump their babies, both child and mother covered with festering sores, or dying slowly by some internal disease. The adults there were cruel and did not care that a child was five minutes from death, tugging at their pant leg for some food or compassion. The child would only receive a kick or blow as a deathbed farewell. The only reason I did not die was because of the books. When I was little, I had to find some way to elevate myself above the Monstros and even the children my age. I began collecting scraps of tattered old newspapers, ads from the stores, or anything with words that I could get my hands on. I slowly taught myself to read. It opened up my mind, and I was able to formulate plans to escape the Monstros or find food. I formed alliances with some of the children my age, but only temporary ones. If I was seen with someone for too long, the others would get suspicious and kill me out of spite.  
  
I grimace when the one with the messy dark hair speaks again. He complains about not having something called a broomstick. It is repulsive to me to think of anything besides food as something so necessary he feels he must be compelled to complain about it. It slowly dawns on me that these children had parents who sheltered them, who fed them at least once a week or even once a day, who gave them things to amuse themselves with. These children never had to think about where to drag yourself before you die, or worry about survival. That is the only thing in my mind: survival. I must admit coming to this strange place was a strange journey and a tough decision. I could be going into a place worse than the streets of Verdaña, although that is not likely. I was picking through some garbage clogged in the drain, when a clean, white envelope appeared right in front of me. I opened the letter, read it, and as soon as I got to the last word, I felt a great lurch somewhere around my navel and was transported to this train station.  
  
  
  
End of seventh year  
  
I sneer and turn away from the man who had been as a father to me. I tune out his feeble attempts to keep me here at Hogwarts. Hogwarts, the place that once was a place of wonder and encouragement now feels like a prison. I grin smugly. I met someone who promised me all of the time and resources to work on my potions, for no cost. That fool Dumbledore took me in and fed me and taught me, but that only went so far. That thing he called "love" was just a fairy tale. Love doesn't happen to ugly, smelly, street urchins. That's what everyone told me I was, so it must be what I am. But the other doesn't think of me as such. He and the other ones accept me as I am. He doesn't have fancy ideas about good or love, he promises power. Power is the only real thing in the world. I turn, spit at the old man's feet, and walk away.  
  
  
  
Three years after graduation  
  
Sitting in the plush chair located in a cluttered and interesting office, I drop my head in my hands. When I first joined the ranks of that monster, he promised me all the time I wanted to work on my potions. But that, indeed, had come with a price. I can still hear the screams of the Muggles I killed. I can feel the feeble poundings of the women I raped, and I did not even do it on my own free will. He, instead of dirtying his hands, used me and his other minions (although they were willing) to do the disgusting deeds his twisted mind desired. He simply watched. I am consumed with guilt. I should have been able to fight the Imperious Curse. I could have done something, anything, to stop him or kill him. But I was too blind, following the leader like in the children's game I never got to play, convinced I could do nothing because I was and am a worthless bastard. Dumbledore walks into his office and I run to beg at his feet for forgiveness, not attempting to choke back a sob. He saved me from the streets and he saved me from my own self-destruction, using a letter the first time and a simple, silvery ball the second.  
  
*** Lucius Malfoy walked into Snape's room. He tossed a package on Snape's bed. "This came for you. I had to do a fair amount of lying so I could get it to you without the others opening it. You owe me, bastard." Lucius turned and left the room. Snape looked curiously at the package and opened it. A plain silver ball lay at the bottom of the box. Snape reached in and took it out. It wasn't very heavy; in actuality, it was quite light. Snape blinked with surprise as the ball began to glow, and got so bright he had to squeeze his eyes shut.  
  
When he opened his eyes, he stared directly into kind, warm brown eyes. Shocked, he tried to lean back but found he couldn't because his back was pressed up against the wall. The person in front of him took a step back and Snape realized it was a young woman- a beautiful one, at that. Her soft brown hair fell down her back in waves, and her presence was an aura of grace and intelligence. She was wearing flowing robes of white and silver. She held out her hand to him, and a little dazedly, he took it.  
  
They began floating, going through the ceiling and above the compound. They flew away from the rotting place, and soared through the clouds. "Do not worry, Severus," her smooth voice said, "you will not be harmed. I've come to show you that there is more to life than power, that power in itself is nothing, has nothing, and brings nothing."  
  
They were flying quickly, over an ocean, over mountains and fields. They came to a small city and floated over it. Snape studied it, and realized that this was Verdaña, the rank and cruel place he had come from. All he brought from this place was his name, which he somehow knew when he first became self-aware. They flew closer to the streets. Snape almost averted his eyes, not wanting to see all of the abandoned children muerto de hambre, dying or dead of hunger, but as he looked closer, the streets were spotless and empty.  
  
"Where are the children?" he asked the beautiful and mysterious stranger. She smiled, her eyes shining with happiness. She pointed to a large building, colorful flowers lining the front. They flew closer and through the roof of the building. Snape saw a multitude of children, well fed, dressed, and clean. They were all seated around a large rectangular table, plates of steaming food in front of them. A portly but kind-looking woman came into the room. The children all bowed their heads and said a prayer. Snape looked around at each of their faces, all of them so happy and content. He felt a rush of emotion, wondering why someone would take the time to make that once filthy nightmare into a pleasant place, especially sacrificing valuable time to make a safe haven for the children that had once been spat upon. His eyes were drawn to a little blonde girl, no more than 5, laughing and giggling as an older boy with shaggy brown hair said something to her. Snape could see the scars on the boy's face- he had known the old Verdaña, but the little girl would never have to know the horrors of the street and consuming need for survival.  
  
He felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder and he looked at the mysterious woman. "You see, Severus, that if someone had been so preoccupied with the quest for power, they would have never built this place for the children or cleaned up the city. It was because of love, the unselfish passion for another human being, that inspired them to do this wondrous deed. Love conquers all, not power. Alexander the Great had the world for himself, but his cold manner compelled his subjects poison him. Jesus of Nazareth loved his fellow people, and would do anything to help those in need; he even died for them, and in return, they loved him too. Voldemort doesn't care about you, and you know it. He merely uses you as a tool. Albus Dumbledore loves you as yourself, the whole and complete Severus Snape."  
  
As she said this, they flew through the roof of the building and hovered over the streets of Verdaña. She pointed out over them. "The world can be a happy and beautiful place if you love and respect your fellow human beings. If you let a cruel tyrant like the Dark One take over and have all the power, these streets will once again become the place you so loathed. Join the fight against that evil, Severus. Albus forgives you for your choice, and harbors no ill feeling toward you."  
  
Snape realized they were back, floating above the compound. "You can stay here, or you can come with me, back to Albus and the side of good. It's your choice, Severus."  
  
Snape looked over the dark building, weeds choking out any sign of green in the front. A Death Eater glided up a dirty path leading to the door, and the screams of a tortured Muggle (or Death Eater) emancipated from the interior. Snape gazed at the young woman, calm and serene, illuminated with a white and heavenly glow.  
  
***  
  
Harry Potter's first year  
  
I rub my eyes wearily. Yet another year. Another year of loneliness and despair, guilt and remorse, bitterness and anger. I know I would have no reason to exist if I didn't have to repay Dumbledore for everything he did for me. He insists I owe him nothing, but I know I am forever in his debt for saving my life twice. My heart seizes up with pain as I think about the mysterious woman who showed me the error of my ways. My falling in love with some apparition only proves my destiny- my destiny to die alone, without the touch of a loving hand. I do not deserve it anyway, after the atrocious acts I have committed. But it has been many years now and I still cannot stop thinking about her. Someone with a Muggle I.Q. of 213 can still be stupid at times.  
  
I try not to roll my eyes as the new quivering first years come in. I wouldn't even be present here, but Dumbledore always insists I come. The first little puddle of fear slips up to the stool. I suppose she'll be placed in Ravenclaw; she is. I like to try to guess who will be in which house. A game to keep my mind off of the boring ceremony that I have seen take place for many years.  
  
My eyes narrow as a boy with messy black hair sits on the stool. Potter's son. I remember how disgustingly materialistic his father was- and how he and his cronies would mercilessly tease and torment me. He is put into Gryffindor, of course. God forbid he be in any house but the best. I have been trying for years to clear Slytherin of the scummy Death Eater spawn and restore my house to its former glory, but I cannot show objectivity. If I do not favor Slytherin, I will no doubt be reported to their brown-nosing parents, who will turn me in to Voldemort.for I have no doubt that he is not gone. I must patiently bide my time before I can kill the sick and twisted demon, and pathetically wait the rest of my life for my silvery- white angel.  
  
Six years later  
  
Damn Potter. He tries to pretend he's happy for her, but I can see it in his eyes- he is jealous. He cannot believe that he, the great Harry Potter, did not get chosen for the Triwizard tournament again. The chosen Hogwarts champion didn't even put her name in the goblet herself. She was quite surprised when her name was called, her eyes wide with shock. I put her name in the goblet. It was I who recognized her superior mind, her keen sense of logic, and her fast-as-lightning analytical abilities. Potter, who undoubtedly works hard, cannot measure up to her. It is merely a professional interest, my putting her name in the goblet. I am fascinated with her mind, the likes of which Hogwarts hasn't seen in years. I cannot wait to see how she will work out the Triwizard Tasks.  
  
Yule ball- same year  
  
I roll my eyes as yet another girl ambles by, her face covered in more layers than a archaeological dig. At the staff meeting, we had to draw names out of a hat (a disgustingly Muggle practice) to choose which professors would chaperone the Yule Ball. I was one of the lucky ones who was blessed enough to witness this wonderful event. I sneer in disgust at the hormone-driven boys, chasing after the naive, immature, and oh-so- ungraceful girls.  
  
The merry sound of tinkling wind chimes plays at my ear. I turn to the entrance of the Great Hall- and see Hermione Granger, laughing lightly with the Weasley girl as they enter. My heart wrenches as I realize that a fate worse than falling in love with an untouchable apparition has befallen me - that of falling in love with an untouchable demoiselle. I am not entirely certain that they are different, though. The resemblance is uncanny. Maybe I did love her all along without allowing myself to come to grips with it. I would not put it past Dumbledore to have arranged this in some way. I've been so convinced I wasn't human enough to deserve to love or be loved in return. Her hair floats down her back in soft clouds as she steps smoothly, her silvery-white robes flowing behind her. She is standing up straight and tall, radiating confidence and beauty. Everything about her is just like the angel that saved me- I know they are the same beautiful gentlewoman.  
  
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the other blundering idiots (though I myself am no one to call them that) gaping at her. I feel an inexplicable fury. They do not see the inner beauty, one that far surpasses the outer beauty. She is as mature as she is graceful, as intelligent as she is beautiful, and as kind as she is patient. And I am angry at the fact that, although they do not appreciate her, they will be the ones to catch her attention, while I am just as overlooked as the curtains on the wall.  
  
I stomp outside, relishing my sour mood. My manner worsens as I hear the various "visiting" couples in the rosebushes. I have to get away from this, so I head toward my own private and secluded spot. It is only a bench carved into the castle wall, facing the lake, but I like to come here to clear my thoughts. As I approach, I hear the sound of tears, real tears, not the petty ones shed by pampered and spoiled children who don't get a new broomstick for being able to recite the alphabet. I press my back against the wall and peek around the corner. Someone is sitting on my bench, facing away from me, but I don't have to look twice to know who it is. The shiny brown locks reflecting the moonlight are a dead giveaway.  
  
Incredulous with my sudden good fortune, I cautiously sit beside her. I gently put my hand on her shoulder as a means of comfort, but I have never been very practiced at it. She whips around, her tear-filled eyes flashing, but then she realizes it is me. I prepare myself for the revulsion or the disappointment that I know she will feel. To my astonishment, she wraps her arms around me and sobs into my chest. Feeling as if this were a dream, I awkwardly hold her close, and she speaks through her tears.  
  
"Professor! I can't stand it anymore. All they do is hate me for my thirst for knowledge, my love of books, and my passion for learning! But as soon as I am away from all of that, they notice my appearance. I don't want to be loved for how I look, but for what's inside! I'm tired of the shallow, materialistic people in this school, who don't worry about anything except the clothes they wear. They do not give a thought to the people who starve to death on the streets, begging for help from people who won't spare any money or kindness on them, but will walk straight into the jewelry store and spend lavish amounts of money on glittering rocks! I'm sick of it. I can't bear to listen to Cro-Magnon conversations day after day after day. I want to have beautiful discussions and debates on theories, politics, morals, laws, military strategy.anything but the Quidditch game or the newest shipment at Zonko's!"  
  
Her sobs pause for a moment, and the chilly hand of fright wraps around me. Surely she now realizes she is being consoled by the most hated man in Hogwarts? But no- she just looks down at herself in sadness.  
  
"Maybe I need to hide my true self to find love. I already have to lower my standards of speech to talk to Harry and Ron, and pretend to be interested in boring things like Quidditch. I suppose I could do that for the rest of my.... life...."  
  
She breaks down in sobs and clings to me all the more tightly. I try not to notice how she fits so perfectly under my chin, and attempt to calm her down, to talk some sense into her.  
  
"Miss Granger, what you just said was the most fatuous thing I've ever heard emanate that brilliant mind of yours. You have a capable mind, one that's like a sponge, fervently absorbing anything it can come across. You have a stimulating personality and a kind heart. I forbid you to have to change just to get a man to love you. You need someone that can challenge your mind instead of hinder it. Whomever you share your life with should be someone that appreciates you. Appreciates all of you, even the little things, like the way you will go out of your way just to do something nice for somebody, even if it means time away from a good book or getting in trouble. Like the way you chew on your quill during tests, or the way you visit the kitchens once a week just to make sure the house-elves feel appreciated."  
  
She looks up at me though red rimmed eyes- she is not one of those girls who looks beautiful when she cries, but she could have a manticore's facial features and I would still think she is beautiful. "You know about that?" She asks sheepishly.  
  
I allow myself to chuckle, having already put aside most of my mask. "Everyone knows about that. The house-elves tell us during the staff meetings. They love it, actually, and are always on about Miss Granger this, Miss Granger that..."  
  
I cannot go on any further as she presses her lips against mine.  
  
Two years later  
  
I grin into the mirror at my wild, bushy hair. I perform a few straightening charms and it turns smooth and silky. I hear the door open and I turn around, the flowing white dress hindering my movement a little. Ginny Weasley steps in, her flaming red hair bouncing.  
  
"Hi, Ginny. You're a little late, you know."  
  
She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Hermione. You look beautiful, you know that?" She sits me down at a vanity and begins arranging a few flowers in my hair. I would usually never do anything like that, but today is a special occasion.  
  
My mind wanders down the hall, a few rooms down, to the man who waits there, looking (I'm sure) stunning in a black tuxedo. I think back over the years to my school days, when I was just a bushy-haired know-it-all. Not too much has changed, but I'm about to become a married bushy-haired know- it-all. Harry, Ron and I were the best of friends, romping around the school. Although they were good for fun and laughter, I was a girl with ...human needs. I would get so frustrated at how shallow and unintelligent all of the other boys were- and what gentlemen they weren't.  
  
I began to notice how, even though Severus disliked the Gryffindors, he would always hold the door open for a girl. I knew how intellectually stimulating conversations with him could be- sometimes I could stay after class and just talk with him for hours. Certainly he was a terror in class, but his demeanor changed somewhat when he was away from the stresses of teaching. Potions was a subject he loved and was passionate about- and his students never even tried to learn it. He was never sunshine and posies, he has a naturally sarcastic side to him, but I didn't mind. After a few months or so, I developed a crush on him. I knew the signs and didn't try to fight them. Many would call him unattractive, but I beg to differ. I have always loved a hooked nose. His hair wasn't really too greasy, and besides, I'm not one to talk about bad hair.  
  
I was good at hiding my feelings- after all, no one suspected I went home to an abusive household. I would talk with him during the day and dream about him at night. I knew that he would never love me. I was his student, and although the age difference did not bother me in the slightest, I was sure it would hinder him from considering an emotional relationship with me.  
  
But that all changed on the night of the Yule Ball. The boys had been absolute pigs, and the girls acting like the ball was the most important thing - practically vital to life. After Draco Malfoy had whispered a few vile things to me, I had run outside. I went to my secret place, the one I thought no one knew about. He had been so wonderful in consoling me- and I felt the freeing feeling of hope that maybe, just maybe, he might love me too. I took a risk and kissed him, something I'd been yearning to do for months.  
  
After cautiously and carefully dealing with one another, we formed a relationship. After graduation, I went away to study for a few months, missing him like crazy. We moved in together soon after my return, and things just progressed naturally. I had once thought that I would never find a love that loved me for myself, but I found the most loving of them all. When I look at him, a flash goes through me, and my heart beats quickly. My legs turn all the more light and airy with every one of his kisses, and I feel safe and warm in his arms.  
  
I smile again as I finish getting ready, both physically and emotionally to say those two words:  
  
I do.  
  
  
  
~*~ There was a reference to Strega Brava's A Professional Interest. 


End file.
